


F to L

by luluxa



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 20:10:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luluxa/pseuds/luluxa
Summary: What should sex with your best friend be like, anyway?
Relationships: Jeremy Clarkson/James May
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	F to L

It would be easier to deal with if it was… edgier. Harder, tenser, and laced with swearing and alcohol haze. But it’s not.

It’s an ordinary day Jeremy’s having, consisting of driving from a pit stop to a pit stop in a crap car, talking at a camera and mocking his colleagues. It’s an ordinary evening, too, when, a bit tired but content, he drags himself to his suite to have a glass of wine and watch some telly. Richard disappears to have a lengthy phone call home, but James invites himself along, which is also perfectly ordinary and expected of him.

Ending up huddled closely on a hotel bed is maybe less common, but not unheard of and certainly quite nice. The sunset light is dimming, the telly is showing something French and artsy, the evening air blowing gently through the window is pleasantly fresh and James’s shoulder pressed to Jeremy’s is pleasantly warm. The bottle of wine they’ve had between them isn’t enough to claim drunkenness, as it provides nothing more but a state of glazed-over satisfaction with life in general.

James expresses this satisfaction by humming and slumping down onto the pillows, making Jeremy look away from the screen and a pretty black and white lady on it. After all, pink-cheeked and messy-haired, James makes quite a pretty picture too.

“Gonna sleep in here, are you?” Jeremy asks with way too much fondness in his voice, regarding James’s lazily sprawled form on his bed. His shirt has pulled up, exposing his soft pale belly and Jeremy suddenly has an urge to lick it. 

“Ah, ‘s big enough to fit the whole crew,” James says gesturing loosely around himself, eyes closed. “You won’t even notice.”

Maybe not the crew, Jeremy thinks, but he definitely can’t ignore one James May.

Still possessed by the pleasant buzz, Jeremy lies down as well and runs his fingers gently across the pale stripe of skin right over the belt, making James smile and hum softly. Jeremy pauses, a concerned but distant voice in his head telling him it’s not right, but James seems to be enjoying his initiative, so what the hell does the voice know?

He sneaks his fingers under the stupid flowery shirt that would honestly look better on the floor than on James. His skin is smooth and warm and Jeremy settles to expose it, unbuttoning the shirt slowly, revealing a lovely blush as he goes upwards. Once done, he decides what he really wants to lick is a nipple and since there’s no reason not to, he wiggles lower down and covers the closest one with his mouth. James gasps, but again, doesn’t protest, putting a palm on Jeremy’s nape instead. A hot wave rushes to Jeremy’s head, drowning his concern for good.

-

In the morning, over breakfast, Jeremy is confused and unsettled. What _should_ sex with your best friend be like, anyway? Before he’s actually done it, Jeremy imagined it could be a bit pushy, more like the rest of their relationship, with James needing to be convinced and then determined to show Jeremy the ‘proper’ way to do it. But it was nothing of sorts.

It was slow and languid and gentle, James arching into his touch easily, moaning softly, while Jeremy was falling apart, breathless under his firm palms.

It was nothing like friendly experimentation or having a good-natured unwinding squeeze before going to bed – something you might, in theory, engage in with a mate. What it was, Jeremy thinks, his ears on fire, looked frighteningly like making love.

He risks a sideways glance at James, who seems serene and unconcerned by anything whatsoever. But it can’t be all right, can it? They both are disillusioned, middle-aged, public men. There’s no room for tender homosexual affairs in their petrol-stained world, filled with sarcasm, chain-smoking, and biting arguments.

“What?” James asks when he finally notices the scrutiny that must’ve taken a while, since James is the most oblivious man in the world. Only Jeremy must be even more oblivious, if he’s having a silent meltdown while James took the love-making in stride, obviously perfectly in tune with whatever has been going on between them all these years.

Jeremy turns away from his amused sleepy eyes and a fond smile and focuses on his coffee, finding comfort in the familiar bitter taste, while everything else is complicated and strange.

The day that follows is just as ordinary as the previous one. They squabble over the radio and mock Hammond for picking a shed of a car, and they spend quite a lot of time on a side of the road while Hammond busies himself with a toolkit under the bonnet. The camera crew is sniggering at Richard’s anger, it’s raining, Jeremy’s back is aching, and nothing suggests he might step closer to James and kiss him, because it just would be ridiculous and misplaced and weird.

And yet, it’s all Jeremy can think of.

An ordinary evening follows the ordinary day, and Hammond retreats after dinner, already on the phone, and Jeremy saunters to his room, hyper aware of James by his side, following him there.

“James,” he tries once the door is closed behind them, but he’s got no bloody idea what to say next.

“Hm?” James says, looking unaware of Jeremy’s struggle. He lands on Jeremy’s bed and turns the telly on.

Jeremy has already considered all his options, drawbacks, benefits, horrible headlines, awkward conversations, and then sad but inevitable conclusions, and decided that the most sensible thing would be claiming tiredness and telling James to get out.

“I only have rosé,” he says instead, toeing his shoes off and padding over to the fridge to produce a bottle, half-expecting James to leave on his own account.

James sighs. “Fine. Bring it here.”

Jeremy complies.

Soon, the wine is gone and the telly stops making much sense, but Jeremy couldn’t pay less attention to it anyway, because James’s lips are sweet and hot and wrapped around Jeremy’s cock.

Jeremy strokes through his messy curls wondrously, suffocating with the desires he’s got so used to deny. He really should’ve told James to get out when he still had a chance. It’s too late now.

-

Their journey ends too soon.

He has the following breakfast at the hotel, hardly able to look anywhere but James sitting across him, but in the evening, he’s alone at his flat and utterly lost.

What the hell happens now? What are the rules? Fuck, are there at least some vague guidelines somewhere?

It seems unreal now, his empty flat serving as a sharp slap from reality.

Can they even talk about it? Or will James pretend nothing has happened and will only slip into his hotel rooms occasionally for a lazy kiss and a grope?

Jeremy spends an hour on the balcony, smoking non-stop and trying to come up with a way to live with this new and likely a one-off thing. He fails completely at the task and goes back inside to have a helpful drink, only then discovering two missed calls from James and one message.

With his insides wobbly and heart fluttering all over the place, like Jeremy’s 15 and not 50, he opens the message and reads it with one eye closed cautiously.

_Have you fallen asleep, you fossil?_ It reads. _I have bought some proper wine. Call if interested and I'll bring it over._

Jeremy opens both eyes and exhales, a disgustingly hopeful smile tugging on his lips.

“I am,” he says when James picks up the phone a moment later. “I have never been more interested.”

He waits. 


End file.
